


Need a Hand?

by starspangledmeatball



Series: A Plethora of AU's [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, One Shot, This is actually Bucky/Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:23:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmeatball/pseuds/starspangledmeatball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James "Bucky" Barnes is a young war vet who is just trying to run a coffee shop with his best friend. And for once in his life Bucky is the one who acts like a fool in front of a pretty girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need a Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> This a little one shot that may or may not grow into something more. This is an AU where the Winter Soldier does not exist and Bucky and Steve are not from the 40's but were in the war.

Bucky has just done the stupidest thing he could have ever done. He couldn't believe the amount of stupid that just went into what he did. And in front of a beautiful woman no less. Well, more like she got caught in the middle of his stupidity.

Bucky was just cleaning down the tables to the coffee shop him and his best friend Steve bought together after they both left the army. It was one of those places that had an exterior that could be missed when one blinked. The inside was decorated with plush chairs, low set couches, classy tables, and walls laden with art work Steve had drawn/painted himself. Bucky more or less did the technical side of doing the books each month and occasionally helping Steve and their employee Sam, who was also ex-military. He was just wiping down the tables after a group of messy teens decided to leave coffee rings and crumbs all over the wooden table and he was trying to keep this place in a state that didn't have rats and bugs crawling everywhere because a few brats don't know how to clean up after themselves.

The real trouble, though, is that no matter what number the war did on him mentally or physically, Bucky was still a smart-ass. Pixar was also partially at fault for this. Basically it went like this:

Steve and Sam were trying to help the onslaught of customers who were crowding in for their afternoon coffee boost while Bucky was making sure everything was presentable while trying not to focus on the chatter.

"Hey Buck!" Steve called out. "Can you come over here and give us a hand?"

Bucky straightened up and faster than anybody could blink, unhooked his prosthetic arm and tossed, or rather whipped, it across the room at Steve. Rather than the arm smoothly landing on the counter, he ended up hitting a redheaded beauty right in the face, knocking her and her coffee over.

At that moment everything in the shop went still, save for Sam and Steve who were busy cackling at hyenas at Bucky's faux pas. Bucky's heart stopped and he stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His life was over.

The redhead he just inadvertently assaulted was the one who came in every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday and would sit for a few hours typing away on her computer, sipping her beverage. Her name was Natasha. Now, she was picking herself back up off the floor and rubbing her head, gripping his arm in the opposite hand.

Bucky was usually quite the ladies' man but when he first looked into her piercing eyes he felt more or less like Steve when the big ox was attempting to flirt with a cute guy or gal. He was going to try flirting with Natasha but now he fucked up big time. Him and his damn instinct to be a smart-ass. It's that damn Pixar's fault. He just had to see that line from Toy Story and then once he prepared himself to pull that stunt he was going to do it whenever the opportunity came up.

His life. Is over.

"I think your friends were the ones who needed the hand," Natasha said holding up the prosthetic.

Bucky snapped out of his internal ass-kicking and hurried over to her. "I am so, sorry!" he stammered as he grabbed a wad of napkins and started cleaning up the spilled drink. "I'll get you a new coffee and a giftcard to apologize for ruining your shirt." God, he was such a fool. Why couldn't he be smooth like he used to? Is it because he was truly attracted to women who looked like they could murder him 100 ways with a toothpick? Is that it?

"If you were going to go through all this trouble to get your hands on me, I would have settled for dinner first, at least," she replied coolly. In truth, she was just as mortified as he was, but she wasn't going to give him, or anyone for that matter, that information.

Bucky quickly removed his hand from blotting up the coffee off her black shirt. "What?"

"I'm just saying there are better ways to get handsy with somebody," she smirked and held up the arm.

Bucky paused and barked out a laugh that startled even him. "I wasn't trying to get handsy with you, really, that would be the third date," he quipped back. He gulped and realized that might not have been the right thing to say.

She simply smiled and handed him his arm before she picked up her purse and left the shop. He was so screwed.

"Nice  _handy_ work Buck," Steve guffawed.

"Oh, fuck off," Bucky snarled and stomped up to the apartment above the shop with Steve calling out his apologies and "just teasing"'s.

The aggravated brunet plopped down in his armchair and did the tedious job of putting his arm back on. He only had the damned thing for a short while and was still getting used to certain things. He checked it over to see if he broke or chipped anything. He saw something crumpled up in the palm and pulled it out seeing a number scribbled across it and a note that read "Call me". It was signed by Natasha and sided with a doodle of a spider with a smiley face.

Bucky slowly grinned and leaped up holding his arm triumphantly like a sword.

*

Bucky and Natasha have been dating for several months now. Apparently Natasha was a former MMA champion and a bodyguard but now she just wrote books. The inevitable was about to happen.

"What happened to your arm?" Natasha asked.

They were both laying on the couch in Natasha's apartment watching an action movie and pointing out the flaws in the fighting styles, techniques, and strategies of Hollywood's warriors. Bucky stiffened and removed what Natasha referred to as his "man meat arm" from her shoulders.

"You don't have to tell me," she said soothingly rubbing his knee.

He sat there silently. Where could he start? Could he even tell her what happened without relapsing? Natasha's fluffy, black cat jumped onto the couch and curled up beside the trembling man as if sensing his anxiety.

"There was an accident," he started hesitantly. "There was a grenade and... I was too close." He took a deep shuddering breath. "It took me a long time to recover but I still can't look at myself sometimes without feeling sick."

"It can't be that bad."

"But it is. It's not the scars, it's the memories that come with them," he explained wishing desperately he could just put everything he felt into words.

"I know how you feel," she murmured.

"How could you possibly know how I feel?" he snapped.

She stared at him with those intense hazel eyes and slowly lifted the hem of her shirt. "I was shot."

He stared at the scar, small but obviously there.

"If you were actually listening to me when I told you about my previous jobs, you would remember that I was a bodyguard," she explained. "I took a bullet. Several actually. Left me with a few mental scars too. So trust me when I say I know how you feel."

Bucky gazed at her dumbfounded, before he realized what he was doing he pulled her in and was hugging her tightly, burying his head in her shoulder. "Stay with me?"

"It's my apartment, I think it's my job to ask," her words were a joke but her tone revealed that she wanted to stay with him too.

They held each other close, letting themselves be vulnerable for once, knowing the other wouldn't take advantage or hold it against them. They didn't do anything past tender kisses and soft caresses against skin letting only their actions speak.

And in that moment of vulnerability, just as they were drifting off to sleep, embracing the warmth they brought, they both said the words the other needed to hear.

"I love you"

"I'm glad I met you."


End file.
